He's Not a Burden He's My Brother
by Echos of Blue
Summary: It had been five weeks and three days since the fire had claimed Mary Winchester's life. John is offered an opportunity to tag along on his first hunt. The only problem being - what will he do with his two young sons? Well, the kids would be fine for the two short hours alone...wouldn't they? Maybe. But when those two hours turn into an entire night - John isn't so sure anymore.


**He's Not a Burden. He's My Brother.**

It had been five weeks since the fire. Five weeks and three days. Dean still hadn't said one word. He hadn't mumbled anything, hadn't cried about anything, hadn't asked for anything. He was only silent, hauntingly silent.

They had stayed with Hector and Marge for the first three weeks and one day. They were an older couple down the street who knew the Winchester family well. Marge had watched Dean a few times, even overnight while Mary was in labor with Sammy. Hector and John had gone out for drinks at the local bar, cheered over whatever game the screens had on. John thought it would be a safe place for his boys, until he heard them whispering. Hushed conversations about the boys being better off without John until he got himself together, talks about therapy, returning to normality.

John had a turning decision to make in that moment, laying on the bed and watching his sons sleep. That night, he had taken his boys and vanished without a word, a trace, or even a note. Because normal was no longer an option for the Winchesters. Something had killed Mary Winchester, and it sure as hell wasn't a house fire.

John had been making phone calls, talking to people who knew people who knew people. He had a breakthrough with a pastor up in Minnesota - Jim was his name, Pastor Jim Murphy. The man was a hard nut to crack, he advised John for hours on spiritual and medical practices before he gave in with a heavy sigh. The unreal was real and that was all John needed to know.

Right then, John had himself and the boys stationed at some middle-of-nowhere motel in South Dakota. Once he had the boys strapped in, John had just kept driving. He had another stroke of luck when he was able to get in touch with a group of guys - called themselves hunters - checking out a 'case'. Once John laid out his credentials - military background, combat and firearm trained - they were glad to tow him along.

Now the only problem was what he was going to do with his boys. Dean was on floor, his back against the bed with Sam sitting beside him in one of those half-moon pillows. He was watching the T.V but it didn't escape John's eye that every time Sammy would drop the toy he was chewing on, Dean would pick it up, wipe it with his hand, and give it right back to his brother. Dean's eyes hadn't left Sam in five weeks and three days.

"It's happening tonight, John," he heard through the crackling of the cell phone.

"Tonight? But-,"

"But what? You're backing out on us?"

"No," John rubbed his neck. "How long will it take?"

"It's a salt and burn," the guy scoffed. "With the four of us? Two hours, tops, dude."

"...okay, seven?"

"On the dot."

With that, John snapped the phone shut. The cheap motel clock read 6:38pm in flashing red numbers. He hated himself for what he was about to do. But it had to do it; he had to learn how to keep his sons safe in this life.

"Dean, buddy, come here," John beckoned his eldest son.

Dean looked over at his brother, tucked the blanket further up the baby's legs before he got up. Dean ambled over to where his dad was and lifted his arms when John grabbed him and set him on his lap.

"Dean, I'm gonna need a big favor from you."

Dean looked at him questioningly but didn't say anything, still silent.

"I need to leave for a little bit."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean's hands grabbed his shirt tight. The four-year-old had wide eyes as he looked at his dad, like he just didn't understand.

"It would only be for two hours, two," John held up two fingers. "See the clock? When that first number hits nine, I'll be home. All I need you to do is just watch Sammy, okay? You don't have to feed him or change him or anything, just make sure he doesn't get out of the playpen. That's it."

John felt heavy guilt pulling at his heart. God, what would Mary think?

Dean's eyes misted, his hands tightening even more until his fingers turned ghostly white.

"Dean, Sammy needs you right now."

That wasn't fair to say, and John knew that. The four-year-old had no responsibility in caring for his brother at all - John never should have even considered asking this of his son. But by God if it didn't work.

Dean's broken eyes harden and his chin rose. John knew what his son was thinking - if Sammy needed him, he'd be there. Dean had always loved the baby John and Mary brought home, but after he had carried his brother from the fire, Dean took his love to another level. Protectiveness had grown around his heart, care catered to responsibility.

Dean had nodded and John had left.

John had given Sammy a bottle and changed him just before he left. He made a quick sandwich for Dean and had found a Scooby-Doo marathon on the crappy motel T.V. He told himself his boys were set; he told himself what he was doing didn't make him a bad father. Two hours tops, he reminded himself.

That had changed. The salt and burn was the most surreal experience John had, besides the fire. The actual hunt lasted almost three hours. Finding the bones, confronting the ghost, digging up the grave, putting the dirt back. But the real delay came afterwards, when he was pulled over for speeding and taken in for the open alcohol bottles littering the Impala.

What the hell was he supposed to do? If he told the police he had two small children alone at a motel, his boys would be taken away. He had to pray they would be alright through the night.

They were Winchesters, they would hold out.

They had to.

8o8o8o8

Daddy had been gone for a long time. Longer than he said. The clock told him it was 10:43pm. Sammy had been good until now, playing in the pen with Dean and chewing on his toys while Dean watched Scooby-Doo. But now Sammy was crying and Dean didn't know what to do.

"Shh, Sammy," said Dean. "Shh, shh, shh."

Usually Sammy stopped crying when Dean rubbed his back or hugged him, but when that didn't work, he just got his Daddy or his…

But now there was no one around and Sammy was so sad.

"It's okay, Sammy," said Dean. "Um…"

Sammy just cried.

"Are you hungry?" Dean guessed. "You only ated some milk."

The baby didn't talk, but that was fine, because his Sammy didn't talk yet anyways. His Sammy was real smart though, because he could put all the shapes in the right holes on the first try.

"Hold on, Sammy," Dean kissed the baby on his head.

Wandering into the little kitchen, Dean's eyes found the bananas Daddy got at the store a couple days ago. Dean had seen Sammy eat bananas before, so that'd probably be good for the baby. Dean clambered up on a chair and snatched two bananas from the bunch. Dean also grabbed one of the paper plates and set everything on the floor.

With all the care the four-year-old had, he peeled one banana and set it on the plate. Then he took his hands and mushed it up.

"Just one more second, Sammy!" Dean called to the crying baby.

Once the banana was all crushed with no blobs left, Dean shook his sticky hands and looked proudly at his work. That's kinda what it looked like when Daddy did it. But Daddy did it with a knife and Dean wasn't allowed to touch the knives, so it didn't look exactly right. But he thought Sammy wouldn't mind.

He had his own banana in one hand (his didn't have to be crushed because he wasn't a baby anymore) and Sammy's mushed on in his other hand.

The baby stifled his crying when he saw Dean holding the plate. Dean smiled. So his Sammy was hungry. The baby was very happy when Dean grabbed him and pulled him to sit between Dean's spread legs. Like this, Sammy could lean back against his brother and eat from the plate on his lap. Watching the Scooby-Doo episode, the Winchesters stayed sat together and ate their bananas.

Every now and then, Sammy would whine for what Dean had, and Dean would break off a piece of his banana, crush it, and hand it to his brother, who happily ate it. Dean was proud of his work - he had fixed Sammy's crying all by himself without any help.

But the banana only lasted so long. And now Sammy was yawning and being fussy in Dean's lap.

11:28pm.

It was way passed the time him and Sammy went to bed. But Daddy wasn't here yet, so what were they supposed to do? Dean looked up at the tall bed. He didn't think he could get Sammy up there without the baby falling down. Dean hugged Sammy tighter at the image of his Sammy falling off the bed and getting so hurt…

Dean sighed and tried to readjust the now squirming seven-month-old. Dean jerked his hand back went he felt wetness on Sammy's bottom, ew. Dean looked down at his brother. Daddy still wasn't home and now Sammy needed to be changed and Dean did not want to do that.

But Sammy needed him - he was just a baby and it wasn't like he could help it or anything. Dean wanted to cry, where was their Daddy? Why wasn't he coming back when he said he would? Why did he lie?

…was he ever coming back?

No, Mommy was gone forever already, Dean couldn't handle it if Daddy was gone too.

Dean shook those nasty thoughts from his head and gently set Sammy down. The baby started crying at that. He was probably real uncomfortable in that wet diaper. Dean knew that he would be uncomfortable if he had to sit in a wet diaper. But he could fix that for Sammy.

"Hang on, Sammy," Dean said, albeit shakily. "I'll take care of you."

The baby cried even louder when Dean left, his sobs turning into wails. It hurt Dean's chest for Sammy to be so sad, but he had to get him something. Daddy said Sammy couldn't leave his playpen, so it wasn't like he could bring the baby with him.

Dean rummaged through the light blue bag that held all of Sammy's baby stuff. His paci - Dean grabbed that, a new diaper, the box of baby wipes, and that white powder. Hands full, Dean walked back to the playpen, carefully stepping over the low fence so he wouldn't drop any of his materials.

Dean set the stuff down and popped the paci in Sammy mouth. The baby's fussing stopped immediately as he started sucking on the paci. That was good, Dean thought. Now Dean considered what he was going to do.

He had seen Sammy be changed lots of times, but he never really learned how to do it. Dean laid the baby down, which he fussed at until Dean handed him his polar bear toy. Sammy loved his polar bear. Dean unsnapped his onesie and pulled it up, revealing his Elmo diaper. The once white line down the front had turned blue - Dean knew that meant Sammy was wet.

Dean was careful not to scrunch up his nose or say ew because he didn't want Sammy to feel bad. Dean was as quick as he could at taking off the old diaper, wiping the baby, and dumping some - probably a little too much - powder on him. Sammy coughed at the white cloud poofed up around them. Dean batted it away with his hand. Dean lifted Sammy's legs up, and then taped on the new diaper. Oh… well, he had to do that part twice, because the first time he put in on backwards.

"Silly me, Sammy," said Dean as he tickled Sammy's tummy, making the baby squeal in delight. At least the infant wasn't fussing about his diaper change. His Sammy wasn't a very fussy baby at all - only when he needed something. But that was okay, because Sammy was a baby and babies couldn't do much by themselves yet.

Dean was meticulously careful while he took the soaked-through onesie off his brother. He didn't think he could do the buttons up on another onesie, so he just pulled a shirt over Sammy's head. It was bedtime, so Dean didn't bother with pants. Dean propped Sammy up one his pillow again, the baby now sporting a fresh diaper and a green t-shirt with an alligator on the front.

Done!

Dean smiled at his brother. He did it, he helped Sammy. Now the baby was in a dry, clean diaper and didn't have to sit in that gross wet one anymore. Dean threw away all the nasty stuff and looked over at the clock.

11:52pm

Daddy still wasn't home.

Dean was feeling more confident in himself now. He had already fed Sammy and changed him. Now they had to go to sleep. Dean set to work on stripping all the blankets and sheets off of the two motel beds. Usually, Sammy and Dean would sleep together on the bed once Daddy put up the baby gates. Dean didn't need them, but Sammy did. Dean didn't think he could do that by himself.

So he decided to make a fort - that he could do by himself. With the nest of blankets, Dean starting poking and prodding the whole thing into the best shape. He made the nest inside the playpen so if Sammy woke up before him, the baby would still be safe. That was very smart of him, Dean thought.

Dean dragged baby Sammy, still in his half-moon pillow, to the edge of the playpen while Dean prepared their fort. They didn't have many chairs to work with, so Dean choose to forgo the covering. Dean put the finishing touches on the nest, adding pillows and making sure the blankets were perfect before he dragged Sammy and his pillow into the middle of the thing.

Now a large gathering of blankets was edged by the blue and orange fence of Sammy's playpen. The edges of the blankets were shaped to be higher than the middle, where Dean had put all the softest blankets. Now that Sammy was inside the fort, Dean was happy with it.

Dean gave Sammy his polar bear and the baby started waving it around. Dean nodded, that was probably Sammy's way of saying he liked the fort. Good.

"You watch the fort Sammy," said Dean seriously. "I'll be back in one second…or maybe two or three, okay?"

Now Sammy needed a bottle, but Dean wasn't allowed to use to the stove, so he just sloppily poured some cow's milk into Sammy's baby bottle and left it out. That way at least it wouldn't be cold, just room temperature.

Dean just tiredly dangled Sammy's baby keys in front of his face until he thought the milk had 'warmed up'. He could tell his Sammy was getting really tired, because his eyes were falling down and he was yawning every few minutes.

One it was time, Dean grabbed a book from Sammy's blue bag, snatched the bottle and went back to the nest of blankets holding his baby brother. Dean pulled Sammy off his half-moon pillow and propped him up on his lap. When Dean tugged the paci away, Sammy almost cried before Dean stuck the bottle in his mouth. Sammy starting sucking on the bottle instantly which was good - sometimes Daddy had to coax him to eat his milk.

With Sammy's head on one shoulder and Dean's arm supporting him, it was definitely difficult to hold the book, but he managed. Dean couldn't really read many words yet, so he just made up a story to go with the pictures as Sammy ate his bottle.

"Then they say to , why's you in the way? And the wasn't saying nothing 'cause he was a rock…"

Soon, both boys fell asleep. Sammy with his head on Dean's arm, his other hand on Dean's chest. Dean had one arm wrapped protectively around Sammy's waist, the other loosely holding the storybook. Dean was smiling when he fell asleep. He had done a good job today, that he knew. He took care of Sammy, he didn't let him leave the playpen, and Sammy was safe. Safe and warm snuggled in his big brother's arms.

It was the best sleep Dean had in a long time.

8o8o8o8

John threw the motel door open just as the clock was striking 7:32am. They had released him at 7:00am sharp, it had taken twenty-five minutes to get the Impala out of impound - circumventing the legal way of course - and seven minutes that make the fifteen minute drive back to the motel.

John was panting now, fully expecting Dean to be curled up in the corner with tears running down his face, Sammy being neglected for hours, hungry and messy and scared. He expected a mess, chaos, his world crashing down around him. Images of Sammy swallowing loose change and choking to death, of Dean opening the door for strangers, either boy getting ahold of a knife or a weapon. Maybe someone heard them crying and called CPS. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

What John Winchester truly didn't expect to find, was both his sons sleeping peacefully curled around each other in a nest of blankets. He didn't expect to see a finished bottle beside his youngest or a storybook beside his oldest. He didn't expect to see everything fine and taken care of. But he did. That was exactly what he saw.

"Dean," he whispered, leaning over the playpen to gently shake his son. "Dean, buddy."

The blonde-haired boy slowing woke up, shaking sleep from his bright green eyes. Once he saw John, his face lit up and he reached for his dad. John happily obliged his child.

"Dean…" John combed a hand through the boy's hair. "Did you...do all that?"

Dean nodded, smiling without saying a word.

"You gave Sammy a bottle?"

A nod.

"And got him to sleep?"

Another nod.

"Did you...change him?"

A scrunched up nose, but still another nod.

"You really took care of him, didn't you?" John said this quietly, almost to himself. "God, I'm so sorry, Dean. I got - I got really held up. But you stepped up, huh? Took care of things better than me, looks like."

Dean green eyes pinched together and he shook his head. John wanted to slap himself, way things were going, that faith in his father wasn't going to last very long. Dean did an incredible thing, something most four-year-olds wouldn't be able to do. Hell, some adults wouldn't be able to do what Dean did - taking care of his baby brother like that.

John hated himself for the thought that curled into his mind next. Dean could do this. He was capable of watching his brother and not just that, he would do it. Dean was willing and able to step up to a responsibly John never in a million years should ask of him.

But John would. He would again, and again, and again. Throughout the years John would hate himself for his choices, he'd numb the pain with whiskey, but he wouldn't stop. John hated to burden his son. Once, he actually told him that. Dean's answer chipped away the guilt by just a fraction.

"He's not a burden, Dad. He's my brother."

Dean was the glue that held them all together, John knew that. One day, when the Demon was gone, maybe they could be a real family all together. Well...Sammy and Dean? They had always been a real family.

Maybe when the Demon was dead, John could join them. But until then, John took comfort in the knowledge that neither of his sons could have a better brother. That when he left them with only each other to lean on, that's all they needed.

That's all they ever needed.

8o8o8o8


End file.
